


The Next Best Thing

by bespectacled



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bespectacled/pseuds/bespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You should've known better." Gwen and Branson, after the count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my writing LJ which I've now all but abandoned. A scene that was in my mind for quite some time.

“Is she alright?”

They were both Lady Sibyl’s favourites, and with that there came an unspoken understanding. He caught her, gently, by the elbow, his eyes boring into hers, desperation in his gaze.

She shook her elbow free, replying coldly; “She’ll be fine.”

It isn’t until later, when he is outside smoking (he hasn’t smoked in years; what is this girl – lady – what is her power over him, that she can set him back so long and make him crave another addiction – is she his new addiction – and derail him so thoroughly) and she is taking a moment alone, to catch her breath – her eyes red around the rims – that they actually spoke.

“Gwen.”

She would not meet his eyes, but she would glare at him. “She’s asleep. She’ll be fine. No thanks to you.”

“You know that I couldn’t refuse her.” He said weakly – she made him weak, she ruined him, the cigarettes weren’t working. “I didn’t know – “

“I doubt you can refuse her anything.” She is bitter, leaning against the wall –she can’t even have her fresh air because of him, the smoke carrying itself to her and into her lungs (she will cough later and not know why, but it is _him_ , it is his fault, _everything is his fault_ ).

His expression softens, and he reaches for her. “Gwen, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you felt that way about me – “

She lets out a laugh, a cruel, sharp one. “No, Branson, try again.”

She has never called him that before; it has always been Tom, in an affectionate tone, in a gentle tone.

He looked down, the remains of the cigarette falling from his lips, before he stubbed the lingering flames out underneath his heel. “That makes two of us then.”

“You should have known better. You know her. You know how clever she is, you know that she can – “

His arms were around her and his lips were on hers – cigarettes, damnit, why did he have to taste of cigarettes.

“I’m not her.” She whispered, voice hoarse, not knowing what she wanted –no, knowing what she wanted, not knowing if she wanted _this_.

“Neither am I.” He replied, desperation lacing his voice. “But this is the next best thing.”


End file.
